Hollowed
by SpikeDawg45
Summary: I was helpless against the torrent of events that sent my life into a downward spiral. All I had left was anger I was forced to live with-I accepted it. After all, when you have nothing else to your name but the clothes on your back, you cling to what little you have. So what did I do when that familiar feeling suddenly turned to fear? I ran . . .and never looked back.


**Well, it sure has been a while since I visited Fanfiction and I thought that I should return with a nice little story. This is some what of a practice story where I insert my own character into a setting and see how everything changes with that character. It'll be nice to train my writing and get feedback from other people. As you know this is a fanfict based off of Dragon Age 2 (one of my favorite games next to Dragon Age: Origins) and it's a first person story from the point of view of Roland, my character from my book I'm finishing. I'd just like to know what everyone else thinks, what I should change, remove, add, etc.**

**(This story is rated T for mild language, violence, and will _possibly_**** be changed to M for future graphic/disturbing themes)If I decide to continue it.**

**And even if a first person story isn't exactly your cup of tea please give it a try if you've got the time (because I realize this is a rather long story). Thanks and Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age 2 nor the characters involved in it, with the exception of Roland, Reno, and Morfar. They're mine! :)**

****Ok, I did some extensive revisions in this chapter and I hope I've improved the quality of this story. There is another chapter yet to be put up but I'm still on the fence about making this a full blown story involving all the characters of the game. I'll let you guys decide, if you want me to continue this then let me know, I'll gladly do so.****

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I sat with my back to a building wall, staring up at the bright stars above me. It wasn't everyday that I could behold such a magnificent sight, the full moon, round and silvery against its inky background, surrounded by bright white orbs seeming to dance as they shimmered. It were only these moments I could take the time to empty my tired mind and gaze upon what little beauty the dreary world had to offer. The sky, at dawn or dusk, helped me in ways I couldn't begin to explain. To just be able to gaze at the wide expanse of clouds and stars gave me a small sense of freedom, a release.

I couldn't decide what I enjoyed the most; the clear blue heavens accompanied by a few wispy clouds floating lazily pass the bright blazing sun; or the black mysterious void emblazoned with tiny globules of light staying firmly in place with their luminous leader, radiating calming light into the darkness around it. In all honesty the night sky would have to be my favorite.

If it weren't for the thick metal bars that covered the only window in my cell, I would be able to get lost in my fascination of it all and forget my troubles. Instead I'd stare blankly at the four brick walls surrounding me and be left to my own wonders and imaginings of the outside world.

An all too familiar coldness began to envelope me as I closed my eyes to rid myself of the ghostly image of my past.

Leagues away from that damned place and still they manage to haunt my every thought.

My eyebrows furrowed in irritation as I picked myself off the filthy ground and began to exit the alley I had chosen to rest in. The night was cold and the air damp, making my hair stick to my forehead as I quickly walked through the trash strewn streets of Lowtown. The wet weather only served to further aggravate me while I muttered to myself, entering the Hanged Man.

I had become tired of running from city to city, navigating through menacing woods and dark alley ways only to have the blasted hunters somehow find me. No matter how cautious I had been; how invisible I tried to be, it's always the same outcome: get caught or run. It was only matter of time that they'd finally be lucky enough to land a good hit and carry my sorry hide off.

No longer could I delude myself by living in denial, 'I'm free now, I just need to keep moving- keep moving.' 'They'll give up eventually, run out of money or patience.' And run out of patience they did, now I had damn bounty hunters to worry about added to my own growing lack of coin.

_Foolish, very foolish._

I knew someone had followed me into Kirkwall. I felt them, they always send off a dark aura as if they were the blight itself. I had come too far to be taken back to the hell that was Tevinter, but I was also becoming frustrated with the feeling of being watched. I heard from one of my contacts that someone had tipped off the bounty hunters, giving them every detail of my whereabouts. My contact, a nineteen year old boy named Berant, added that he heard the bounty hunters were searching for a man of my description, saying they were willing to bargain with me; that they had something important of mine.

For me, that only meant one thing: they had my family.

I felt like all of the wind had been knocked out of me, leaving an empty feeling . . . dread. Last time I saw my family, they were safe in Orlais, living in a small home in the middle of the largest city in Thedas. My master must have gone to great lengths to find them.

The news left me light-headed and time seemed to slow to a crawl. That wasn't what I'd expected to hear. I needed to make plans.

I asked Berant if they mentioned where the hunters wanted to meet. The Hanged Man, he said, a local bar in Lowtown (one I visited often). I thanked Berant for the information, gave him a few extra silvers, and told him not to come looking for me again. If things were to go the way I thought once meeting with the hunters, then I wouldn't have use for his services anymore.

I had the whole scenario laid out in my head: they would first come and talk to me, try and get me to let my guard down, talk about how they could help me, help my family, and keep them safe. Horseshit, all of it. If they had my family they'd use that as blackmail to capture me, and I can't say that it wouldn't work.

It's never enough for these damned Magisters. If they want something, they'll stop at nothing to get it.

I pushed the door a bit too hard as I entered the Hanged Man and it ended up flying open with a loud slam. All eyes in the tavern moved to me as the noisy chatter silenced. Their eyes, glaring, roamed my body, calculating, sizing me up. I sighed inwardly, uncomfortable with the quiet and straightened myself. Brushing my wet hair away from my eyes I walked over to the counter and ordered the best ale they had, ignoring the stares that now bore holes into my back.

The bar man looked at me skeptically, "Are you sure, messere?" he asked while poring the ale into the mug, "This is rather strong."

I dropped twelve silver coins into his palm and smirked, "I think I can handle it," he handed me the mug with a raised brow.

"Whatever you say, messere," he muttered.

I turned away, with my back against the bar as the man returned to sweeping the counter with a rag while eyeing the entrance to the Hanged Man expectantly. Thankfully, people returned to their own business and the ruckus of conversation resumed.

I tapped the side of my mug, lost in my musings, and scanned my surroundings looking for any hint of shifty-eyed men.

I had heard around town that this was 'the' place to drink with your buddies and rent a room, but I couldn't quite see why. There wasn't anything very unique about the place, there were a few tables scattered about with a couple of people drinking and talking merrily, and a rather large fireplace near the back of the room. The floor was littered with hay, dust, and occasional blood stains from previous bar fights. It wasn't the best tavern in town, but beggars can't be choosers.

A beardless dwarf sat at a table next to the fireplace enjoying a mug of ale as he scribbled in a small journal. The dwarf was a common sight in the tavern. I had grown quite used to his company in the short time I lived in Kirkwall. Whenever I visited the bar all I needed to do was glance in that one corner of the room and he'd always be there, feverishly writing in his little leather-bound journal.

Soon, even I was beginning to visit the seedy tavern more and more. The reason for my visits wasn't to drink the rat-piss they called ale, but mostly to listen to the tall-tales of the dwarf. Every week he'd come to the bar and tell stories to any patron that would listen, usually I was the only one willing to lend an ear. He would tell of the adventures he went on with his friend, Hawke, and the trouble they got into. I'll admit, it was interesting for a time, but eventually his tales were becoming too hard to believe and left me shaking my head at the impossibility of it all. The dwarf would try to reassure me of the credibility of his stories but I wasn't so easily bought. So then I moved on to questioning his reason for such embellishments. He simply answered with a prideful smirk, "I'm a compulsive liar, and storytelling is my way of indulging such urges without getting into any . . . unwanted trouble. You know how it is, Bright-Eyes, there's trouble lurking around every corner these days."

The dwarf looked from his work and nodded at me, grinning. I smiled and lifted my mug towards him in a sort of toast. He lifted his drink in return and took a long swig of it before returning to his writing. It was weird how we've become mutual friends and never learned of each other's names. Maybe once I have my problem sorted out I'll properly introduce myself, I thought.

The dwarf sat with his regular group of companions consisting of a female and male elf, a man, and two women.

The barman next to me huffed in frustration and anxiously glanced at the door once more before continuing to polish the counter, muttering under his breath.

The male, white-haired elf; that was covered from head to toe in silver, intricate tattoos, bore a fearsome scowl on his face which was only complimented by the large broadsword strapped to his back. The female elf wore a green tunic and very dark green leggings; she also carried a metal staff. Mage. There also was a girl pirate whom wore a blue bandana and a tight tunic long enough to reach lower than her waist, where her long boots covered her legs up to her thigh. You could plainly see the sharp and deadly daggers sheathed at her back, the handles worn from constant use.

The man wore a grey robe; the top of it was light green and embroidered with both black and light-grey feathers. He also held a dark wooden staff that stood taller than him; the tip of it curved into a sharp piece of metal, resembling a knife. Mage, at this point I question the majority of the city's IQ if they can't figure out who's a mage and who isn't.

The dwarf, who sat at the head of the table, sported a leather jacket opened up at the front enough to reveal a large amount of chest hair. He wielded a very expensive looking crossbow, of which he carried everywhere with him (as far as I knew). And last, there was a female warrior in the group wearing bulky armor with a long, silver sword strapped to her back. And I knew, from the dwarf's tales, that that was Hawke; their 'feirce' leader.

In all, this seemed like an odd group with elves, a pirate, a warrior, and mages.

The dwarf smiled at his comrades and waved at the barman, "Hey, Morfar, send some more of the bat-piss you call ale over here!" he yelled, nearly muffled out by the talking of the other customers.

The barman reached to a shelf, retrieving a few mugs as he replied, gruffly, "You're lucky I'm even serving you this shit. You still haven't paid off your tab from last month!"

After filling the clay mugs, Morfar set the ale on a platter a barmaid brought up and sent her off to the group's table. She turned on her heal, though not before glancing at me in curiosity, and made way across the room.

The dwarf thanked the barmaid as she distributed the full mugs to each of his friends, "I told you I'd pay it off and I will. So don't go getting yourself all worked up, else you'll lose the last of whatever hair you have left on your head." The dwarf responded much to Morfar's annoyance.

A drunk wobbled in between the tables, making way towards the bar failing miserably as he walked straight into a chair ending up face first onto the floor.

Chuckling to myself I took a sip of the ale. I suddenly froze and widened my eyes as the taste hit me full on, nearly resulting in me joining the drunk on the ground. The liquid painfully burned its way down my throat as I attempted to swallow, leaving my tongue with a stinging sensation and then numbness. Covering my mouth I began to cough and sputter. Spots appeared in my vision and distorted my surroundings. I had to grip the bar behind me to keep balance. There was no chance mead like that would affect me in such a debilitating way.

"Sounds like you're about to cough up a lung there," said a very smug barman.

"Shit!" I coughed, turning towards the barman, temper flaring, "What did you put in this thing?" I questioned, gripping the man's tunic collar. The slur in my words made the action less intimidating than it should have been.

He shrugged and removed my hand, grinning, as he started to polish a mug, "It's a special brew I came up with. What do you think?" He studied me with an odd gleam in his eye. Something wasn't right . . .

I wiped my eyes and shook my head, hoping to rid myself of the blurriness that now spread throughout the bar. I tried to refocus on the wall opposite me, but instead everything seemed like I was swimming in murky water.

The feeling in my mouth slowly returned seconds later, at least allowing me to speak properly. I rolled my tongue around and swallowed to get rid of the horribly bitter and acidic after taste.

"You better hope this wears off soon old man, else start running now," I threatened.

The barman let out a hearty laugh, "Don't worry, yer friends will be here to take care of ya soon enough."

I quickly grabbed the man's shirt again, a feral growl making its way up my throat. The barman tensed under my grip and I soon realized that he was much lighter compared to before.

"Unhand me, cretin!" the barman yelled in a womanly voice.

Uh, oh.

Sharp pain erupted in my groin, forcing me to let go of the barmaid I was yelling at. I crumpled to my knees, clutching my family jewels and hiding my pained face as I bent forward.

"Fuckin' hell," I cursed.

That woman was stronger than she seemed, the pain was unbelievable!

I heard the lady harrumph and walk off with a tray of drinks, returning to serving customers as if that encounter was in her daily schedule.

Well, she does work at a bar, I thought and tenderly rose to my feet.

The barman was having a field day, his laughter erupted into load guffaws, after seeing my bewildered expression. I groaned in irritation and buried my face into my hands whilst keeping my legs close together, the pain hadn't completely subsided.

The man struggled to compose himself, "I'm sure no permanent damage was done."

Still unable to see clearly, I followed the sound of his voice and angrily reached over the bar stand, missing the old coot by mere inches. I mumbled curses under my breath, there was no way I'd be able to fight in this condition. I struggled with the effects of the posioned ale, my thoughts jumbled into a heap and I had a hard time focusing on one thing at a time. My vision focused in and out, I repeately blinked, hoping to rid myself of the skewed vision.

Suddenly I heard someone enter the Hanged Man.

"And here they are now . . ." said Morfar.

Five well armored men enter through the doorway aggressively. Their silver armor glinted in the torchlight as they strode to the middle of the tavern. All of them had shiny new helmets on, obscuring their faces, except for the man who stood in front of them holding his helmet underneath his arm. The leader, a brown haired man, took two extra steps in front of his followers and scanned the area around him expectantly, his cold blue eyes analyzing every person in the bar.

I clenched my teeth as the bounty hunters stalked about like some sort of predator hunting for his meal.

The leader's gaze rested on Hawke and the white-haired elf for a moment. His eyes narrowed. He looked as if he were about to attack them, but then he shook his head as if ridding himself of some terrible memory and continued to search the tavern.

I nervously tugged at my tunic collar when the room grew incredibly hot each time the bounty hunters passed by, shoving through drunks and barmaids that got in their way.

One of men had my master's black diamond-shaped crest on his chest plate, a slaver. He was most definitely there to supervise and make sure everything went to plan. It wasn't surprising, my master never fully trusted his employees.

Without a word I gripped my mug tightly and fumbled my way towards an empty table. I noticed Hawke's group tense at the arrival of these intimidating men. All of them inched their hands towards their weapons, unsure of the men's intent.

Sighing, I sat down at a table staring into the contents of my mug intently. I was going back to Tevinter for sure. That would be the only reason they'd be willing to bargain: my freedom for my family. And this posion was only to make sure I don't flee, I was sure of it. After all these years, running, eluding, traveling from city to city, making sure no information about my family got out, and for what?!

"Shit, shit, shit!" I muttered, lightly banging the table with the mug and fisting my hand into my short muggy hair.

No! I can't do this now. I need to stay calm and focused. Focus you moron . . .

I faught back the urge to lay my head down on the table and forced myself to think. I let my overstressed mind drift off to the memories of my younger sister, Emily. She was older by about six years, but acted just as immature as me. I remembered her long black hair which she never braided or put into a pony tail, no matter how much it got in her way; and her pointed elf ears that perked up whenever she smiled. She was gentle, kind, and protective. My father was always proud of her and how good of a person she had become. Because of that, I had tried to one-up my sister whenever I could. I would've done anything to make my father proud. But since I was a human and they were elves, he seemed . . . to regard her more highly than me.

I missed them and I was going to get them back one way or another, I'll be damned if I let the slavers hurt my family. If I were to be captured in order to save them, then so be it.

Bringing the strong liquid to my lips I continued to dwell in my thoughts till I was rudely interrupted by a hand shoving the mug back down to the table before I could manage a drink. I winced, the loud clang of the mug caught everyone's attention in the bar, especially Hawke's group whom kept their eyes trained on the suspicious men.

"Took you long enough." I commented, keeping my eyes on the table.

Reno snatched my mug nonchalantly and glanced at the contents, "What can I say, you weren't exactly easy to find," he brought the drink up to his nose, his face contorted with disgust as he placed the mug on a barmaid's tray as she passed by, "that was a surprise in and of itself, with your big mouth and all."

"Nice to know you haven't lost your sense of humor," I retorted, dryly, gripping the table so not to topple off.

He took the chair across from me and motioned for his men to step away for a moment, "Eh, I try," he shrugged as he placed his helm on the table.

I was slowly regaining my vision as time passed, the posion was too weak! If I waited a bit longer then I'd be stable enough to fight if need be.

I eyed the armored hunters, who were now hovering around the entrance to the bar, "With everything that's happened, I thought you'd be half way to Ferelden by now" Reverting my eyes to Reno, I continued, "By the way, what happened to your partner? What was his name Greggory, jeremy-"

He scoffed, "Gerald," he answered, "As you very well know, not everything goes to plan . . ."

Bastard.

"So what, betraying friends is your full time job now?" My voice rose with my irritation, "Do you get some sort of sick satifaction out of this?!" I gestured to myself and his men, "What exactly is he paying you?"

Reno's face softened only a little as he shifted his gaze to the table, "I needed to do something to stop him. He didn't leave much room for negotiation."

So now he going to bring that up. Typical of him to choose the worst possible time.

I let my anger take control as I yelled, "And you thought turning tail and retreating to the enemy would help?! You-"

Reno slammed his fist into the table, effectively interrupting me, the noise leaving a sharp ringing in my ears, "It was either you or them!" he responded with just as much volume.

The Hanged Man grew quiet at his outburst, all eyes staring at Reno.

Ignoring them, he glared at me, "Enough, this isn't why I'm here."

I crossed my arms, desperately trying to rein in my temper and focus, "Right, a little birdie told me you wanted to cut a deal."

"Of a sort," he bit back aggressively, "Listen, Roland. Volac has Olok and Emily, he's more than willing to hurt them, unless you come with us peacefully."

"And who's to say he won't harm them once you take me back?" I asked, my voice rising in anger, "I'm not an idiot, Reno. Volac isn't one to waste an opportunity when he sees one; you and I both know he will continue to use them against me for as long as they live."

"He wont. He gave me his word," he said.

"He's a magister. Volac has no reason to keep his promises," I retorted.

He stood up, frustrated, knocking his chair over as he turned away from me, "Damn it all!" he yelled.

For a while he stood there, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was hard for him. Despite what he had done, sending his closest friend straight into danger- to slavery, that idea alone made him hesitate. The only person I ever considered to be a good friend ended up betraying me because he felt he could fix everything; because he wanted to be the bloody hero. It was his fault I was a slave, but he couldn't admit it.

I stared at the table, knowing which way this would turn, "Is it worth it?" I questioned, quiet enough that only he could hear.

Reno was positively fuming, conflicted with the decision put before him. He heaved a loud sigh, shoulders sagging as if in defeat.

He turned his head towards me, yet still unwilling to look directly at me, "I wanted so much to save them, all of them. I . . . please understand that . . ." he pleaded in a low whisper.

Walking past his men, he muttered, "Just get it done. I'll be outside."

In a flash I took a mug from a passing patron and threw it at a hunter's face; it shattered into pieces, cutting him on his cheek and drenching him in the putrid smelling ale. He stumbled back in surprise, tripping over himself as I twisted around and punched one of the other men right in the face leaving a small dent in the man's helm. Without even a second thought about my bleeding hand, I grabbed Reno's discarded helmet from the table and charged at the same man as the surrounding people in the bar watched the whole display in shock.

I bashed his head in with the helmet, killing him immediately as his own helm bent even further, crushing his skull. Turning around, I hit another bounty hunter in the face with my crude weapon and as he whirled from the force I pushed him with my foot. Caught off balance, the disoriented man ran straight into a wooden pillar and fell to the floor holding his nose in pain.

Suddenly, I was hit with a wave of dizzyness and nauesea. I stumbled and leaned on the pillar. The hunter began to push himself off the floor, rubbing his now broken nose. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to shrug off the illness, and proceeded to deliver a swift and persice kick to the hunter's jaw. The man's head struck the floor as he was left out of the fight, unconscious.

I managed to kick one other straight in the gut as he leaped toward me, leaving him wheezing on the floor

Recovering from his surprise Reno launched himself at me, blade in hand. With much precision he swiped and sliced at me as I danced around his attacks with superior speed and grace, using the battered helmet to block close attacks. Jumping onto a table I grabbed a chair near me and chucked it at Reno. He dodged it easily, but the distraction gave me enough time to throw the helm straight at an incoming slaver and leap off the table, tackling the confused man. The slaver I drove to the ground had my weapons so I quickly unsheathed them from the back of the man, abandoning the demolished helm, and kicking him in the face as he struggled to retrieve the blades.

I pivoted around just in time to deflect another swipe with my dual scimitars. A loud clang resonated in my ear drums as Reno and I were pushed back from each other's force. I stumbled and nearly fell to the ground. My head was spinning as I desperately faught the urge to close my eyes. Something wasn't right.

"You feeling a bit sick there, friend?" asked Reno in false concern, "probably should have laid off the ale, I hear it can be quite the debilitating drink." He added with a knowing smile.

I shook my head as I stared blankly at the ground. The dizziness was fading and I was slowly regaining my sight. Apparently, my master neglected to inform Reno that I was no ordinary slave escapee.

Noticing my recovery, Reno scowled and lunged at me yelling a battle cry as he swung his sword down, attempting to knock the weapons from my hands. I simply deflected the attack and stepped to the side, swiping at his feet with both my scimitars. Reno jumped and dodged rounding on me with a kick to the chest that sent me back a few feet. I grunted as my stomach did twists from the pain. Slowly regaining my composure I continued my assault as Reno's men stumbled to their feet.

As I dodged, swiped, stabbed, and parried, I couldn't help but notice that Hawke's group continued to keep their eyes on me and Reno. All of them stood, looking as if they were about to help, but of course this wasn't their business. You never get help in a bar fight, unless you're lucky.

Sweat began to bead down my forehead and neck while I took on a defensive stance. Reno bombarded me with constant short but strong hits with his sword that contacted with my scimitars each time. Clangs and rings emanated from the shimmering metal as they clashed with each intricate movement. Reno had definitely gotten better with his sword since I had escaped; he no longer stumbled over his footing or shifted his weapon in his hand. His stance was now as solid as a rock and his grip on the hilt of his sword didn't lessen even a little.

Reno clenched his teeth, "Damn it Roland stop fighting! I don't want to hurt you!"

"Coud've fooled me," I said, avoiding another jab at my stomach.

I grew more and more frustrated with each passing second as I was unable to get an opening on that arsehole; whenever I deflected an attack and went in for a jab he'd effortlessly parry it away only to repeat the process. This grueling repetition took a toll on me. My usual iron-grip had weakened, making me fumble for a good hold on my weapons so not to drop them. The hits I sent towards Reno slowly diminished in strength as the scimitars grew heavier in my moist palms.

Reno too was growing tired with each swing and dodge. His lips pressed into a tight line of concentration, taking every chance to make me falter. The poisoned ale still left me weak with fatigue.

Maker let me hold out just a bit longer!

Hearing heavy boots stomping on the wooden floor I kicked a chair at Reno, startling him, and jumped to the side just as a slaver was about to cut me in two with his broad sword. He swung his weapon towards my body as I jumped back. The slaver managed to tear my tunic while he swiped his sword upwards, taking a step forward. I quickly knocked his weapon to the side with one scimitar and plunged my other into his chest before he had a chance to back away. He crumpled to the floor, audibly choking on his own blood, as the other two advanced toward me.

I groaned, "Will you people ever give up!"

I was in deep trouble, Reno was taking quick steps toward me about to swing his sword like a bat, and one guy was hollering like an ape as he charged with his sword above his head. Without a second thought, I spun around sliced at the man charging at me, managing to deeply cut his arm. Dropping his sword, he grimaced whilst clutching his bleeding wound. At the end of my rotation I sliced the wounded man's throat and he collapsed onto the puddle of blood forming beneath him.

Pulling my right arm back, I threw my scimitar directly at the last minion, just getting to his feet, pinning him by his chainmail to the pillar. The man struggled to pull himself free of the blade without much success. Smirking, I turned just in time to see Reno expertly twist his sword toward my hand, flicking it away and leaving me defenseless. Then we went into a whole new style of combat as he desperately tried to hit me with his sword while I barely dodged his attacks by swiftly moving around him. Reno was strong but not fast.

Reno thrusted his sword at my chest, angrily cursing in Arcanum when I jumped back and grabbed his wrist. He yelped as I forcefully twisted his arm behind his back, making him release his sword. Immediately, Reno shifted and elbowed me in the nose before turning and punching my jaw. I stumbled from the force as Reno charged slightly bent forward, intending to throw me to the ground. Left without any other option I jumped and kicked Reno's chest with both feet, letting his momentum do most of the damage.

He went flying back, plowing through a few chairs as bystanders hastily tried to get out of the way, until he finally slammed against the table Hawke's group sat at. The weak table collapsed on impact. The mugs that sat on the table were broken as the alcohol they contained drizzled over the floor. Hawke stared at Reno's unconscious body and then glanced at me.

I bent over slightly, holding my side, barely able to draw a breath without my chest tightening painfully. Upon removing my hand I noticed a long, thin line had been cut above my waist probably done by one of the bounty hunters without me even noticing. I grimaced as I pressed my hand to my wound, blood beginning to spread over it and staining my ripped tunic.

I gently pushed myself off the ground with one hand, grunting as each movement brought more pain. Almost immediately I felt hands grab both of my arms, roughly shoving me to the ground, making me yell out in agony. I looked up at my assailants and saw more slavers enter the Hanged Man, most likely back-up.

"Son of a bitch!" I heard Reno shout in frustration, holding his bruised head.

Without even looking at me he kicked my groin. I yelled out, feeling the excruciating pain spread up to my stomach.

"Shit," I grumbled, bending over.

Reno sneered and pointed a greasy finger at my face, "You brought this on yourself. One of these days your stubborn pride will get you killed!"

He lightly touched the nasty cut left on his cheek by the shattered mug, feeling how bad the damage was only served to piss him off even more. He lifted his arm and brought the back of his hand down on my face. I turned my head to the side and spat out the bitter crimson liquid that began to slowly trickle from my split lip.

"What the bloody hell is this!" A woman yelled angrily.

I looked up to see it was that guardsman that had entered earlier and she looked fuming mad.

Funny how she chose now to intervene.

She stalked up to Reno with her friends right behind her, "I will have you arrested for this assault." She said, with fervor.

Reno folded his arms over his chest and did his best innocent smile, "You've no grounds to arrest me," he pointed at me, "this man threw the first blow. I was merely defending myself."

"Please, do I look like a fool to you?" she asked sarcastically, angered by Reno's pour attempt at innocence.

Hawke directed her piercing dark blue eyes at Reno, "If you were just randomly attacked why had you come armed to the teeth along with ten or so men accompanying you?" she said, her voice ringing clear with contempt.

Reno's smile disappeared and he lowered his hands to his side, "Alright then," he sighed, "We are from Tevinter under the employment of Magister Volac, and we've been sent to Kirkwall to retrieve his property."

The white haired elf with the large sword narrowed his eyes in anger.

Noticing this, Reno raise a brow then continued his explanation, "Of course I planned to do so without struggle, but unfortunately it did not turn out that way," he finished, glancing at me.

"You do know the possession and sale of a slave is against the law in Kirkwall, right?" Hawke asked.

He rolled his eyes, "Yes I am aware of that. But we," he gestured to the rest of his gang, "are protected under Tevinter law, and that law states we are allowed to retrieve our lost property no matter where they flee."

The guardsman narrowed her eyes, "You and I both know there's no such law."

"He was never a good liar," I whispered to Hawke and the guardsman.

A slaver lightly jabbed my back with the tip of his sword and hissed, "Shut up."

Ignoring me, Reno took two steps closer, smiling all too sweetly, "It would be in your best interest, serah, to overlook that minor flaw in our legal system if you don't want any quarrel with the magisters. I hear you've got your hands full enough with the Qunari." He inquired.

I lowered my eyes to the floor as my hope for escape began to diminish. Though Reno was very rash and too proud, he was smart enough to know that having the Tevinter magisters as less than acquaintances would mean certain war.

The pure irony of my situation had finally hit me and I began to laugh bitterly, much to the groups' confusion, "Well this is just fantastic. Reno, the infamous mercenary, is now a diplomat," I scoffed.

Suddenly, my head snapped back and I lost balance, falling down on my side. It took me a full minute for my brain to render that I've just been kneed in the face and I grunted in pain whilst tentatively holding my chin.

I looked up seeing a slaver giving me a warning glare, "You'd think they'd have the balls to fight fairly . . ." I added, grumbling loud enough for only the group around me to hear.

I quickly lifted my arms up in surrender when I saw the slaver lift his foot, aiming specifically at my wound, "H-hey, hey! Alright, I'll shut up" I said.

I definitely did not want to feel the metal plated boot leave a footprint in my kidney.

Now Hawke joined the tattooed elf in angrily glaring at the slavers, mainly at the man who had just nearly knocked my brain out of my skull.

Reno sighed, growing tired of the exchange.

"If you are done harassing me and my men," he said, pushing past, "excuse us."

"Hey, we had a deal! Thirty sovereigns for the boy and the information," yelled Morfar.

"So it was you!" I bellowed in outrage, causing the whole group to flinch at my booming voice.

Unfazed by my outburst, Reno took a step to Morfar and threw a small leather bag filled to the brim with clinking coins, "Right, I had almost forgotten. On behalf of Magister Volac, I thank you for your cooperation," he said with a short bow.

Morfar snatched the bag from the air, grinning deviously as if he were holding a beautiful woman.

I lurched forward despite my serious injury and snarled at Morfar, "You bloody idiot! Do you realize what you've done?!"

His disturbing grin didn't falter as he took a single gold coin out of bag and bit into it, "Yes, I believe I just got thirty sovereigns richer." He laughed.

Slipping out of the slaver's grasp I lunged at Morfar. I was inches away from battering his face in when two slavers attempted to tackle me to the ground. To their dismay, the weight wasn't enough to bring me down and it took two more slavers to ram into us before my head met the floor. The blood now thoroughly soaked the lower half of my tunic, the tender wound reacting accordingly with the added pressure and friction.

Trembling with a tremendous amount of anger and pain I yelled out once more having the men holding me down know just how close I was to ripping their heads off. My face pressed to the dusty wood, I let my voice rumble with a feral growl, "Morfar, I swear on my mother's grave I will make you regret ever crossing me."

If it were possible Morfar's grin grew wider in response, "Somehow, I highly doubt that, friend."

The slavers lifted me to my feet, and left two men to restrain me by holding my arms back. I took that small opportunity to jump at Morfar, the adrenaline fueling my vains allowed me to forget my injury and drag the slavers with me. Now face to face I glared at him letting my cold hazel eyes channel all of my hate and fury into his, "Enjoy your life while you can . . ."

This time I let the slavers push me towards the door, leaving Morfar visibly shaken. "Move!" the slaver yelled hitting the back of my head with the hilt of his sword for emphasis.

I grunted and stumbled forward towards the exit. Wincing at the strain put on the gaping wound I clamped my teeth together and bit back the cry of agony that threatened to surface.

Hawke took a step towards us, blade in hand but was stopped by the Guardswoman's outstretched arm, "Don't Hawke." She said.

Hawke looked to the guardswoman, probably thinking she was joking. Seeing that the guard was not going to change her mind, the frustrated warrior sheathed her sword reluctantly and grumbled, "Fine."

I stared at Hawke's group, the silver-haired elf glared at Reno with such intensity I could have sworn his tattoos glowed a light blue. The elf looked expectantly towards Hawke as if he couldn't believe they were about to let the slavers leave. Hawke ignored the elf's scowl and stared at me apologetically.

I furrowed my brow and jerked my head up slightly in a curt nod towards Hawke and her companions, acknowledging their effort in help. I walked forward with my gaze fixed ahead of me and followed the slavers out of the hanged man, seemingly unafraid of the hardship I inevitably had to face.

As I look back at that moment now, I can't help but realize how big of a fool I was to think I could withstand more punishment. For, the measure of a man is the way he bears up under misfortune. I had been a piece of glass that only needed one more quake to shatter.

Thoughts of what was waiting for me back with my master flooded my mind. The very idea of electrocution, whipping, beating or deprivation of food hindered my spirit. Did they hurt Emily or Father? Will they make my family suffer for my actions? Or will they even have the decency to punish me for what I did and leave them alone? Knowing Volac, he'd probably find any way to "teach me a lesson" in the sickest way possible. Whether it meant brutally beating the person I cared for or viciously attacking me both physically and mentally with magic, it didn't matter. As long as Volac had his disgusting satisfaction through torture he was happy.

I couldn't try to escape again not without risking leaving Emily and my Father. They'd surely kill them or worse sell them to some other magister who'd do Maker-knows-what to them. Escaping with my family would be the better option, but Volac would definitely threaten to kill one of us if the other tried anything. I silently cursed Morfar and his ancestry, if it weren't for him they wouldn't have found me. But I couldn't help feeling it was also my fault for even talking to anyone in the tavern; that was the main reason Morfar found out about me and told the bounty hunters.

I shouldn't have let myself get caught in the first place! I'm such an idiot!

Now thoroughly crushed by the situation and lack of solutions I averted my eyes to stare at my dust covered boots and limped onward towards whatever abuse my mind and body was to endure. I can respectfully say that I was scared of what would happen, worried for the uncertain future.

If I could trade my place as a slave for my family's freedom, though, I would do so without a second thought. But even I knew not to hope for such things, because a magister would rather die than release one of his slaves. Doing that would show weakness to the other magisters in Tevinter and that was the least that Volac wanted. His reputation had already been tarnished enough when I escaped.

Unfortunately, I was his most prized slave because of what I can do. Volac took great joy in meddling with dark arts, sacraficial rituals, and demonic possession. One day he decided to use me as his test subject in one of his many experiments. Most of his 'tests' involved me drinking an odd concoction or sitting in a chair while he performed some type of magic to screw with my mind. Many of his experiments left me debilitated with horrific after effects. But on that day his experiment managed to work: he wanted to tap into one of man's strongest and most piosonous emotions, anger. He had fiddled around with something in my mind that allowed him to make me blind with rage at a moments notice.

Upon discovering his success Volac would lock me in a room full of slaves, gaurds, or whatever other poor soul managed to get on his bad side. All he had to do was concentrate on his magic to flip that special switch in my brain. Then my anger took control.

I'd see nothing but red in my eyes as I killed each and everyone one of the slaves in the room. I wouldn't know what I had done until I saw the many blood spattered, mangled bodies scattered across the floor.

It's not like I wanted to kill innocents, far from it, but that pure rage that would engulf my very being was just too much for my mind to handle. I'd lash out at anything and anyone just to rid myself of the hate. Volac loved this new development in me, which was one of the reasons I was treated slightly better than the other slaves. I provided him entertainment through battle without him so much as lifting a finger. Volac would even pit other magisters against me who wanted to prove I wasn't as 'awe-inspiring' as Volac depicted me to be.

Each and every one of them fell by my hands and I always came out of it baring some sort of scar be it mental or physical. There are no words to describe the pain that I felt after the 'sessions'. Guilt, sorrow, and anger, those words aren't sufficient enough to portray my feelings. I felt like a puppet, sitting in some dark corner waiting for someone to pull my strings and make me dance. Oh how I loathed Volac for what he was doing to me, making me out to be a monster. Unfortunately, he had succeeded; I am a monster.

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**Thank you soooo much for taking the time out of your day to read my story. Please if you have any suggestions, want to point out grammer or spelling mistakes I may have made, leave a review. OR if you just simply want to tell me what you think (Like it or not, I enjoy reading all reviews!) please let me know. **_Oh, and one question: Would a woman who's in the gaurd be refferred to as a gaurdsman or gaurdswoman? I'm not quite sure and it's been a while since I played Dragon Age 2, I'd like to know so that I could make corrections respectively. Thanks_****

**On another note, if you enjoyed this story and want me to continue it then I'll consider. Let me know in a review or PM me. :) But for now it is to be a one chap story. Thank You again for giving this fanfict a chance and I hope you all have a wonderful day! (or night, or evening, or . . . whatever!) :D**


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